by Jasmine Walt
Delara hastily turned her laugh into a cough. “Are you offering?” she asked once she got herself under control.
Lucyan shook his head. “Alas, my heart belongs to another.”
Delara gave him a skeptical look. “It’s not good for people like us to form attachments,” she said. “In this line of work, attachments can get you killed.”
That sobered Lucyan right up. A surge of fear hit him as he realized just how far away Dareena was. He had no way to check on her, no means of ensuring she was all right and that there wasn’t some assassin breathing down her neck, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.
“As for the rest of you,” Lord Byrule went on once the recruits had quieted down. “You may not have magic, but never fear. You will be given magical weapons to aid you in your missions, devices anyone can use. Today, we will be introducing you to some basic ones and teaching you how to activate them.”
Magical devices, Lucyan thought as the warlocks led them to the castle, where they would be visiting the magical armory for the first time. He wondered if the warlocks used a device to spy on their enemies rather than a spell. The last time he’d been here, Lucyan had learned that imbuing an object with an ability was much easier on a warlock than having to cast a spell that would perform the same function. Yes, it cost them more power in the beginning, but once the device was set up, it merely required periodic charging and could be activated by anyone who had the right keyword. A spell that could spy on people from such great distances would require a great deal of magical expenditure. Lucyan was almost certain the warlocks would have created a device for such a purpose.
I’ll keep my ear to the ground, Lucyan resolved. If he could find the device they used, he could destroy it and eliminate their ability to invade his family’s privacy. And then he could fly home and verify Dareena’s safety for himself.
14
The next day, Drystan saddled a horse and made the long trek to the dragon god’s cave. Lucyan had drawn him a careful map before he’d left for Shadowhaven; it was located on the face of a sheer cliff, only a day’s ride from the castle.
Two hours into the ride, Drystan stopped at the top of a hill for a short break to allow his horse to graze. The animal dipped his head, and as he tore off a mouthful of grass, Drystan’s stomach rumbled. He wished fasting wasn’t part of this ritual. He hated hunger with a passion, but as far as sacrifices went, he supposed it was a mild one. The fasting was the reason he’d chosen to ride rather than fly—while flying was faster, he would have nothing to do but sit around and think about how hungry he was for the next sixteen hours, which might very well drive him mad.
Besides, the ride gave him time to think and to appreciate the countryside. Dragonfell was a beautiful kingdom, he thought fondly as he passed by various farms and orchards and trotted through rolling hills, the mountains looming in the distance all the while. Dareena would have loved the ride, and to escape the confines of the Keep, but now that she was pregnant, he simply couldn’t risk it. Drystan would do anything to make Dareena happy, and it pained him every time he had to deny her the freedom to go where she wished. But the health of their unborn child was more important than any of their desires.
By the time he finally reached the cliff, night had fallen. The cloudless sky gave way to the blanket of stars twinkling brilliantly. Drystan wondered if the dragon god was up there, watching as he ascended the cliff, carefully guiding his horse along the narrow path that wound around the cliff face. As Lucyan had instructed him, he left his horse at the top, then climbed back down on foot and found the cavern entrance. Sure enough, not far in, he found the altar Lucyan had described. He placed a small casket of fire wine on top, then closed his eyes.
Please, dragon god, heed my call, he prayed. I am Drystan, son of Dragomir, and I seek your counsel.
A faint breeze ghosted over Drystan’s skin, and he became aware of a vast presence. His eyes flew open, and he gasped when he found himself kneeling not in the cave but atop a mountain so high the world below could not be seen. Above, a giant golden dragon floated, his red eyes boring into Drystan as if he was scouring his very soul.
I tested your brother by making him wait a very long time before I appeared to him, he rumbled in a voice that was pure power. It rippled through Drystan, shaking him to his core, and he had to make a conscious effort to square his shoulders and stay grounded lest he topple over. Unfortunately, I do not have the luxury of toying with you, son of Dragomir. There is much that needs to be done.
“Yes.” Drystan bowed his head, his hands still clasped together. The dragon god’s presence was immense, and Drystan had a feeling that he was restraining himself. If his full power were unleashed, Drystan likely would not be able to look upon him without being incinerated. “Thank you for answering my call, Your Eminence. My brother Lucyan has told me all about his visit with you, and your wishes for the three of us to marry Dareena and rule jointly. But we have no oracle to speak these words to the people, and they are having a difficult time accepting what many consider an outlandish idea. How are we to demonstrate your will?”
It is indeed my will that all three of you marry Dareena, and that the four of you will rule jointly, the dragon god said. He chuckled when Drystan blinked up at him in surprise. Yes, I do mean all four. Dareena may not be a dragon herself, but she understands the common people in a way that you do not. She is the bridge between your royal house and the citizens that make up the bedrock of Dragonfell.
Drystan bowed his head. “I had always planned to have her rule by our side. But how do we convince the others? Perhaps you could perform some miracle?”
The dragon god scoffed, snorting a plume of fire from his nostrils large enough to incinerate a small village. I am a god, not a magician who performs parlor tricks, he snarled.
“Of course not,” Drystan said hastily. As the heat washed over him, incinerating most of his clothing, he hoped this was merely a waking dream, and that his clothes were not actually harmed. “I did not mean to suggest any such thing. It is just that the people are doubtful that this arrangement can truly be to your taste. The nobles are fearful of what kind of example this will set for their own womenfolk. Also, we really do need an oracle to preside over the coronation. The presence of one would go a long way toward allaying the nobles’ concerns.”
The dragon god eyed him as if he’d lost his mind. I don’t understand why you are concerning yourself with what these petty nobles think, he said. You are the dragon, not them. Their opinions are irrelevant in this matter. A dragon king should be able to impose his will on the people, especially when it comes to carrying out my wishes.
“That may be so, but I do not wish to be a tyrant,” Drystan said stubbornly. “I strive to rule with at least a modicum of consent, but that does not mean I wish to appear weak. I merely have no desire to end up like my father.”
There was a long silence at that.
I can see your point, even if I think the way you are going about this is a bit foolish, the dragon god finally said, his voice rife with irritation. In any case, I have already chosen a new oracle, so there is no need for me to perform any ‘miracles,’ as you say.
“You have?” Drystan’s heart leapt in his chest. Finally, they were getting somewhere! “Where can I find him?”
Her, the dragon god corrected. She has been living in obscurity, but you will know her by the dragon-shaped birthmark I have branded her with. I have decided to mark all my future oracles so there will not be any confusion. Find her and bring her to Targon Temple. I will ensure that her authority is unquestioned.
“Thank you, Your Eminence.” Drystan bowed deeply, touching his head to the ground. “I believe our people will be very grateful once the new oracle is installed. My brothers and I might rule, but the citizens of Dragonfell still need a spiritual leader.”
True, the dragon god agreed. Perhaps you are not so foolish after all.
Drystan clamped down on the sarcastic retort that spra
ng to his lips. “Speaking of oracles and gods,” he said, “do you have any inkling as to what Rumas is up to? Does the warlock god approve of his people’s underhanded tactics and evil actions, particularly on the part of the king and his son?”
I doubt it, the dragon god rumbled. Rumas has a temper, and he is known for being crafty, but he is not an evil god. I have not spoken to him in some time. I fear his power may have faded some with his people’s lack of faith. I strongly suspect he retreated from Shadowhaven after Wulorian killed his predecessor. If I should run across him, I will speak to him. The dragon god sighed. The three of us have drifted apart since the War of the Three Kingdoms came to an end. Once, we ate and drank and made merry with each other on a regular basis. Now, we are almost lost to one another.
The sadness in his voice stirred pity in Drystan. “With any luck, the end of this war will finally mend the rift between the three kingdoms,” he said. “I hope it will mend your relationship with your fellow deities as well.”
The dragon god nodded. In the meantime, you must guard the Dragon’s Gift fiercely, he warned. If she dies before your child is born, all may be lost. Take every possible precaution, and then some.
“We are already doing that,” Drystan assured him. But even as he spoke, a bad feeling stirred deep within his chest. Was there something he had overlooked? Some angle of attack he and Alistair had not seen? What if leaving Dareena at home had been the wrong thing to do? Alistair was not back yet, and Lucyan was still gone. Had he made a terrible mistake?
Fret not, the dragon king said, reading his thoughts and fears easily. Your mate is safe and comfortable. Hurry back to her, dragon king, and stay by her side. She will need your steadfast love and loyalty for what is to come.
15
When Dareena rose for the day, she discovered her bed empty. She knew Drystan would have already risen and left hours before, but Alistair was due back. It was nearing noon—surely he would have arrived by now?
Worried, and a little annoyed, Dareena donned her dressing gown, then pulled on the bell and ordered breakfast and the morning post. She curled up on the couch with a book while she waited for both to arrive.
Twenty minutes later, the door opened.
“Good morning, my lady,” Soldian sang as she sailed into the room. The other ladies were right behind her, as well as one of the kitchen staff, wheeling in breakfast on a cart. “You’ve quite a few letters,” she said, setting them down on the table.
“Indeed, I do.” Dareena thanked the server and asked him to leave the food on the dining table. She had Lyria fetch her a letter opener, then set to the task of opening and reading the mail. Normally, Drystan would have taken care of this already, but as all three princes were absent, the task fell to her. The idea of being in charge cheered her a little, and she spent the next thirty minutes happily going through the letters. This was a task where her ladies could actually be useful, she realized. She had Rantissa make a list of all the actionable items, and sent Lyria to speak to the steward and several other castle staff members to set certain things in motion.
About halfway through the pile, she came upon a note from Alistair. My love, it said, I apologize, but I am not able to return home for a few days. The raid was a success, but one of my officers was badly injured and I cannot abandon him while he is in such pain. The healers say he will recover, and he is receiving the best care possible, so I am confident I will return home soon. Keep me in your thoughts. You are always in mine.
Dareena sighed, tenderly tracing the strokes of ink written by Alistair’s own hand. She wanted her mate back, of course, but she couldn’t very well be angry at him for wanting to see to his men. His heart of gold was what had won her over, after all, and she would never wish for him to change.
She was just finishing up when someone knocked urgently at the door. “Who is it?” Dareena called, her heart jumping a little in her chest. Please, gods. Tell me something has not happened to my mates.
“It is Lord Renflaw, my lady,” the man said. “Please, there is an urgent matter I must speak to you about!”
“Let him in,” Dareena ordered Rantissa. As her lady opened the door to admit the council head, Dareena’s stomach twisted with unease.
“What has happened?” Dareena demanded as he bowed before her.
“A delegation from Elvenhame has arrived,” Lord Renflaw said. His eyes were bright, and Dareena realized he was both nervous and excited. “Duchess Valenhall and a few others.”
Dareena shot to her feet. “Did they say why?”
“No, but if I had to hazard a guess, I’d say they are here to negotiate the treaty,” Lord Renflaw said. “They demanded to speak to the princes, but as they are not here and will not be back for some time, I think you and I should go in their stead.”
“I agree,” Dareena said. Her pulse thrummed with excitement—finally, she would get the chance to do something useful! “I’ll need time to make myself presentable.” She turned to her ladies. “Quickly.”
Soldian and Rantissa ushered Dareena into her room, where they cleaned her up and dressed her in a gown of deep purple and gold. They brushed and styled her hair in an elaborate crown of braids, then brushed makeup onto her lips, eyes, and cheeks. Dareena studied herself in the mirror, pleased with the regal look they’d helped her achieve. The makeup made her look older, more sophisticated. Like someone who actually knew what she was doing.
“Thank you,” she said, smiling at her ladies. She was trying to be more encouraging, and less annoyed, praising them heartily when they did something well. “You have done an excellent job.”
“Thank you,” they said as one. Rantissa giggled a little, that nervous tic that got on Dareena’s nerves, but she ignored it. In the hall they met Lord Renflaw, who escorted her to the underground chamber. The elves rose as she entered the room.
“Lady Dareena.” Duchess Valenhall inclined her head. Her eyes glittered as she took in Dareena. “You are looking well.”
“As are you,” Dareena said, noting that despite the long hours of travel the duchess had endured, not a hair was out of place. She wore a silver dress that rippled as she moved, silhouetting her willowy form perfectly. “What brings you to my Keep?”
Lady Valenhall’s white teeth flashed as she smiled. “I came to see your mates, but it would seem that they have sent you in their stead. Do the princes of Dragonfell think so little of the elves, then?”
Dareena refused to rise to the bait. “None of my mates are in residence, but that matters not. I am perfectly sufficient to deal with whatever matter you have brought for our attention.”
The other elves grumbled a bit at this, but Lady Valenhall seemed unperturbed. “Very well,” she said, shrugging. “You have a good enough head on your shoulders to at least hear what we have to say.”
“Her head is irrelevant,” one of the other nobles, a male with white hair, groused. “We need someone who has the authority to negotiate this deal.”
“Lady Dareena is the regent, and she wields the power of the dragon king’s office,” Lord Renflaw interjected in a stern voice. “Between the two of us, we have the necessary authority to sign off on any agreement, should we find it to our liking. Now, you can either have a seat, or you can leave.”
“Don’t be silly,” Lady Valenhall said airily, pulling out a chair. “Of course we’re not leaving. Lady Dareena, shall we begin?”
“We shall.” The sound of chairs scraping on the stone floor filled the room as they took their seats. “I assume the last delegation reached Elvenhame safely, and our message was delivered?”
“It was,” Lady Valenhall said. There was a brief pause as she and the other nobles exchanged glances. “The king has instructed us to tell you that if your people help recover the Princess Basilla, and send Prince Ryolas back to Elvenhame to make peace with his father, we will accept the treaty proposed in the message Prince Drystan has sent. Pending these developments, we are prepared to offer a truce lasting no longer than
four weeks.”
Dareena and Lord Renflaw glanced at each other, and a silent understanding seemed to pass between them. “That sounds reasonable,” Dareena said.
“You’re bloody right it is,” one of the nobles said with a venomous glare. “We aren’t even asking for reparations anymore.”
“Your original demands were outrageous, and you know it,” Dareena said in a cool voice. “However, in view of the new situation, we will consider paying limited reparations, of our own free will, to those elves who were harmed by the war.”
The elves blinked, and Dareena’s ladies, who stood silently nearby, looked shocked. “That is quite generous of you, Lady Dareena,” Lady Valenhall said.
“We will need to withdraw so we can write up a list of the victims and the damages done to them,” one of the other nobles said cautiously.
“My lady,” Lord Renflaw protested, looking alarmed, “while I am sure many will applaud you for this grand gesture, matters of finance like this really must be run by the council—”
Dareena held up a hand to shut him off. “There is no need,” she said, “as I will not be levying taxes against our citizens to pay for this expense.” Lord Renflaw sputtered, but she ignored him, turning back to the elves. “Please draw up your list of damages and present them tomorrow. Prince Drystan will be back, and we shall go over it together.” Regent or not, she still wanted to consult with at least one of her mates before she signed off on this rather than blindside them. “In the meantime, the steward will show you to your rooms for the evening.”
The elves thanked Dareena and left, their tone much more respectful than it had been upon entering. When the door shut behind them, Dareena turned in her seat to face Lord Renflaw, whose jaw was still clenched with anger.
“If you ever question me like that in front of others again,” she said in a soft voice, “I will have you punished.”